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“Surely, there are other heiresses you could consider. I do not judge her, but enough has been said about our family. I want peace, Harry.”
Something turned within him. He wanted peace, too, and marrying appeared to be a good path to follow to obtain it, despite Miss Turner’s reputation. “None who will marry me,” he responded, a bitter note in his voice. “They will arrive in a week. Please, see that the castle is prepared for them.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. He had already made his mind up, and there would be no changing it.
Bridget looked out the carriage window to behold the imposing castle they were approaching, and her stomach churned. Their journey from London to Suffolk had been long and exhausting, but that was not the reason she was nervous. She would be wedding a man she had never met to save her family’s good name.
This was not the way she had imagined she would marry, and although she was still disappointed, she knew she had to be brave and find comfort in the thought that her groom will be kind to her.
“Do you want us to turn back?” Andrew asked, and Mortimer groaned.
“For heaven’s sake, Andrew, stop asking her such questions.”
“Look at the castle, Father.” Her brother was looking out the same window. “The place belongs in the gothic novels that genteel women should never read, and you are sending your daughter to dwell in one.”
“I made the decision to come here, Andrew,” Bridget said firmly. “Please respect it.”
He sighed but nodded. The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the structure, and Mortimer was the first to alight before helping her down. She looked up when she stepped down, her stomach knotting more than it had before.
Her brother was right; the castle was dark with cracks and vines covering the walls. Four towers stood sentinel at every corner, tall and imposing. The windows were fogged as though to conceal a secret, and some of them had cracks while some were broken. The overgrown lawn was a reflection of the dire straits that had fallen upon the castle owner, and a cold shiver slithered through her. If she was not mistaken, she would say a groundskeeper had never been there.
The great front entrance opened, and a slight woman with graying chestnut hair stepped out, a soft smile on her features, which Bridget thought greatly contrasted the castle’s atmosphere. Her eyes were carefully drawn to the cracked marble on the steps she was descending, and the stone balusters looked no better.
“Welcome to Grayfield Castle,” the woman said. “I am Lady Belinda Thornfield, the duke’s aunt.”
Andrew and Mortimer bowed, while Bridget curtsied, thinking that the duke must be younger than she thought if this woman was his aunt. She was very curious to see him.
“You must be Miss Turner,” Lady Belinda continued pleasantly, coming to take her hand. “We are pleased to have you here.”
“My apologies for our late arrival,” her father said. Their journey had not been without event, for they had first broken a wheel, which had delayed them for a day, then a storm arrived.
“Oh, you mustn’t apologize for it, Lord Mortimer. The weather is seldom cooperative. Please, come in.”
Bridget smiled, feeling less intimidated. They were led to a drawing room with its brocade curtains drawn shut. The red and cream hues must have once been vibrant, and the gilded frames that hung on the walls were all but dull and tarnished. Age had hardened the carpet, and the parquet floor sorely missed its polish.
It was late afternoon, but one would think it nightfall if they had not been outside, and Bridget endeavored to resist the urge to ask why the room was so. Her brother and father appeared to be as curious as she was when she glanced at them.
“Please do be seated. I shall find the duke now,” Lady Belinda said.
“Thank you, my lady,” Mortimer said. “I am eager for my daughter to make his acquaintance.”
Bridget’s heart began to race at her father's utterance. She sat and folded her hands on her lap, fighting the urge to flee out of the castle and cry off. Now that she was truly here, fear began to seep into her bones.
Chapter 3
“The duke is out handling some estate matters, I am afraid,” Lady Belinda announced on her return. “Perhaps you will meet him at dinner, which is in an hour.”
Mortimer smiled. “I am sure the duke is a very busy man. Thank you, my lady.”
Bridget felt her shoulders relax. She ought to be surprised at his absence or even a touch displeased, but the relief that coursed through her prevented her from feeling anything as such.
“Would you like me to show you to your…chambers to prepare for dinner, Miss Turner?” Lady Belinda asked.
“Yes, please,” she replied, rising. She glanced at her father, and he gave her an encouraging nod. With a slow breath, she followed Lady Belinda out of the room.
She was led to a large bedchamber where her lady’s maid was already unpacking her baggage. Bridget proceeded to formally introduce herself to Lady Belinda, her eyes assessing the room. A four-poster bed occupied the center with deep purple drapes that matched the ones that covered the windows, drawn, as well. The lavender wallpaper was starting to peel, and the carpet, although not as hard as the one in the drawing room, was a little frayed on the edges.
“I am glad you brought your lady’s maid. I could not find anyone suitable for such a task,” Lady Belinda commented. “I hope you do not mind the state of the castle,” she added with an apologetic smile.
